Of Love and Other Cosmic Horrors
Pritesh Patil
On 31st October – celebrated as All Hallows Eve in the western world, but just another hallmark holiday in the east – a ring of fire appeared in the earth’s upper atmosphere. This ring of fire, as one would have it, was not the sudden implosion of Halley’s screaming comet, or the innocuous collision of the Space Force’s TURNIP missile with a ‘stray’ Russian satellite.
It was something far more sinister.
It was the result of a many-eyed, multi-tentacled Cosmic Horror appearing on this side of reality and exuding a variety of gases which reacted badly with the exosphere and turned earth’s upper atmosphere into an infernal vision from hell. The Horror gobbled the comet, grabbed the muscovite satellite in a pocket-ball and kicked the American missile towards the moon in a perfect display of footballing grace straight out of Lionel Messi’s playbook. Then, the Horror continued its breakneck plummet towards the Indian shores (Thankfully, Cosmic Horrors do not have a neck, and thus do not have to worry about such mundane things like breaking them).
The Silent Whisper of Endless Eternity amidst Phantasmal Stars, known as Sweeps by his friends, was heading to Bombay to see our two heroes.
They would have words.
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In the festering cesspool of regrets that is the slum of Dharavi, two close friends were swigging rum from a single, dirty bottle and drowning their miseries in a drink that was more grease and petrol than spirit. But for the broke and broken-hearted deputy-sheriffs of Bombay, it was enough to dull the aches of lost love. Beside them, a cheap, old radio wobbled on the bricked roof and Freddie Mercury crooned, “Love of my life…” to the lonely night.
“She was the one, Cyrus, she really was. How could she run away from me?” Reed-thin Vaman bawled, resting his head on his considerably larger friend’s shoulder as they stared at the inferno erupting in the night skies, lighting the empty night on fire.
“Women, me dear friend,” Cyrus slurred, grabbing the bottle and taking a large gulp of the burning liquid. “You can’t live with ‘em, you can’t live without ‘em.”
That was when a meteor struck the ghetto, ripping away exactly 4.2 square miles of the slum and transporting it towards the leftward spiral of the Andromeda galaxy, ruled by Dolphins and Mice. In due time, the residents of the slum would come to find that life under a truly-intelligent and empathetic government was far better than what they had left behind on the rocky, primitive planet of humans and politicians. [1]
Closer to home, Sweeps emerged from the hole in the ground, stared at his scabbed knees and sighed. Superhero landings were messy when you had so many limbs. Then, he spotted his quarry and forgot all about joint pains.
“Vaman, do you see what I see?” Cyrus whispered.
“Old Raghuram Raja’s abandoned Rasgulla Shop?” Vaman licked his lips.
“No, not – Wait… Raja’s shop is unguarded? Do you know what that means?!” His eyes became donuts. Then, the huge presence began walking towards them and Cyrus’ mind reengaged. “No, no, Vaman,” he shook the thinner man. “Do you see that!”
It took a moment longer for Vaman’s brain to tear itself away from food. But when it did, he stood on the wonky steel roof and began gesticulating wildly. “Cyrus! Those smooth tentacles, those unconventional legs, those geometry-defying shapes, and those eyes staring deep into my soul…Is it…Could it be…her?”
The larger man shook his head, his belly wobbling in the process. “No, Vaman, that is clearly a masculine eldritch being. Can’t you see the double-jointed handlebar moustache? It’s clearly a male.”
Vaman squinted and deflated. He snatched the bottle back and took a long pull from it.
"Heroes," the Horror spoke in the voice of a being that had seen the death of a hundred thousand civilizations. To the two Mumbaikars, it sounded like the warble of a traffic policeman.[2] "You terrified my sister. Sent her running." The many mouths of Sweeps screamed. "I cannot let such an insult pass!"
"Wait, Mr Horror—" Cyrus began, hot under his thin-layered wife-beater. "We can expla—"
But Sweeps continued his tirade without pause. "How dare you begin the age-old Cosmic courtship process and then leave it incomplete?"
"We what?" Vaman said, eyes sparkling.
"Courtship." The Horror repeated. "Due to your dilly-dallying, others are trying to win her over as she mopes in the Tavern at the Midpoint of the Universe. You need to come rescue her."
Vaman and Cyrus looked at each other, eyes resolute. It was a sign from the universe itself. A quest for love!
"Give us two hours—" Vaman began.
"—And we'll meet you here," Cyrus finished.
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Everybody knows that the first step towards winning the woman's hand in a universal swayamvar is packing the right instruments. So, in went reeking bottles of strong taadi, blunts of weed, and delicious Bihari paans to freshen their breath. Then, the two wrapped flimsy dhotis around their legs, dropped a coat around their shoulders and slipped into traditional Kolhapuri chappals.
"Are we missing anything?" Cyrus asked. Vaman gave him a thoughtful stare. "Oh yes." He removed kunku from his grandma's drawer and applied the red power to both their forehead. A white cap went on top, completing their ensemble as he winked at Cyrus, "She won't know what hit her."
◆◆◆
Sweeps zipped past Ganymede with two humans in tow. He waved at a tentacle emerging from Jupiter's stormeye, slapped away an errant spaceship, and made good speed towards his destination all the while the two humans screamed at his side. The vacuum meant he couldn't hear their dulcet tones, but their body-language seemed happy enough to him.
It was always a good idea to take care of your potential in-laws, the Horror thought as he crossed Galaxial borders, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves encased in the pocket-universe, notwithstanding the burning comet following them around.
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The trio winked into existence on the parking lot of a barren planet beside a bursting star. Cyrus and Vaman fell to the ground coughing, until they spotted the tavern standing tall in front of them. Thoughts of food and drink grabbed a hold of their spinning minds and they forgot all about the many laws of the universe they had broken in the last few minutes.
“Come, humans. My sister is drinking herself into a stupor inside.”
At the mention of their beloved, the two Mumbaikars stood at attention and walked inside the long, homely inn.
Inside the tavern, the Kindly Avenger Residing in Eternal Night was indeed drinking herself into a stupor. She was surrounded by a gaggle of creatures from across space and time vying for her attention. One of them – a jackal-headed man got too close and touched her warbling tentacle. The appendage stiffened, grabbed him and threw him headfirst into and through the wall.
“That one never learns,” Sweeps shook his many heads.
“Was that Anubis?” Cyrus asked, eyes wide in wonder.
“Wepwawet,” Sweeps answered.
“Bless you too,” Vaman said, drawing confused stares from the Horror.
“M’love!” Cyrus boomed, his posh accent ringing through the room. Annoyed faces turned his way. The Kindly Avenger Residing in Eternal Night saw the Duo and trembled. A tear fell from her single pulsing eye.
“See, she’s terrified of you. A true sign of Horror-Love,” Sweeps said, a tentacle resting on each man.
“Mere humans should not even stand in the Kindly Avenger’s presence,” growled a voice from the corner of the bar. Its tone jolted through Vaman’s memories, bringing back terrible memories of the fish market back home, of stale fish frying in staler oil, and he sneezed. Now, in his haste to seek love, he had forgotten to brush, and his breath stank of greased rum, petrol and cardboard. The mighty sneeze travelled at the voice — which was an assortment of microbes that had coalesced into a hivemind with the power of speech – and it broke apart their bonds, scattering them into interstellar debris.
“He killed Elongate!” Shouted a two-headed, one-eyed creature made of glass and stardust. Its exteriors shimmered and it jumped at Vaman, only to collide with Cyrus, who was walking dazedly towards the Kindly Avenger Residing in Eternal Night. Cyrus stumbled at the sudden interruption, tottered and fell upon the extra-dimensional being. “Sorry, me good man. Sorry. Sometimes I just lose control of myself,” he said, brushing dust off his dhoti, not knowing that those were the constituent particles of the creature. He brushed the imaginary lint of his shoulder and proceeded onwards.
By now, the Kindly Avenger Residing in Eternal Night was gulping down drink upon drink of Intergalactic-Neutralizing-Killer-Shots, but even the strongest cocktail in the universe wasn’t enough to drown the dreaded vision before her eyes.
“SHE WILL BE MINE!” Wepwawet roared, jumping in from the Wepwawet-sized hole in the wall. Vaman raised an eyebrow and did what his grandmother would have done in such a situation. Tapped into an ancient Indian martial art passed down in his family from grandmother to granddaughter, used to keep their rascally children in line. Mastered Chappal Instinct, the bane of children across the subcontinent of India. Vaman removed his chappal and threw it with great force at the offender. No stupid deity would keep him from his love. At the same time, Cyrus drew his bottle of rum, took a long swig of the liquor and threw the rest at the deity.
The Chappal and bottle collided, shattering on Wepwawet’s face. The combination of earthly liquid, leather and fumes reacted under the planet’s unstable atmosphere and flames blazed on the jackal-headed creatures face. They spread quickly, setting him completely aflame, and Wepwawet once again broke through the wall, racing away from the madmen.
“We won’t be disturbed now, me love,” Cyrus leered. Vaman had long lost the power of speech. His eyes were heart-shaped orbs, throbbing with desire. Behind them, Sweeps was giving his sister a magnanimous look. Pride shone in his many eyes.
The Kindly Avenger Residing in Eternal Night gave them a long look, downed her last drink, and zipped away through the tavern’s roof, flying towards the nearest star, where she planned to hibernate for the next few human lifetimes. Hopefully these two would have passed on by then — or at least have forgotten all about her. After all, there was only so much a Cosmic Horror could take — even an extremely drunk one — before the alcohol stopped affecting them, and they sought refuge from the madness of humans.
Inside the tavern, a gnarled, white-haired old woman clad in a black gown stared at the trio from behind the bar. She lifted her walking stick which tapered into a curiously sharp point, tapped it on her hand, and said the five words dreaded by all manner of creatures.
“You’re paying for the damages.”
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[1] The Dharavians were stunned at first, shocked at their good fortune, when they realized they had escaped the cruelties of life back home, and the Mice were benevolent rulers, but that was a story for another day.
[2] The average Mumbai traffic policeman routinely saw hope die in the eyes of a hundred thousand travellers as he swindled them out of their hard-earned money on any given Saturday.
Pritesh Patil is fueled by stories, coffee fumes and the promise of adventure. When he isn’t hunting monsters and searching for cracks between realities, he can be found on the open road, spinning tales of hope and revolutions. You can find him on Twitter as @TheQuillseeker.